Of the Founding of Greenwood
by Bastetmoon
Summary: Thranduil tries to convince a young Legolas the history is not boring. A one-shot.


**This is just a short little one-shot I though up in which Thranduil is busy running the woodland realm, and Legolas enjoys running away from his teachers. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: as usual I own nothing.**

* * *

Of the Founding of Greenwood

Thranduil shuffled the many loose leaves of parchment scattered across his desk. It was already late afternoon and he had yet to come to a solution regarding a group of Silvan _Avar _still living near to the mountains in central Mirkwood. Attacks from spiders and orcs had become numerous over the year and now they were calling for even more elven rangers to protect their borders. Ranger that were sorely needed elsewhere in the realm.

He had of course offered then sanctuary within his halls, but the _Avarrim_ were rooted deep in their customs and refused to relocate to safer haunts.

When the problem had first arisen Galion had in jest suggested they send in a host of riders to carry the stubborn forest dwellers off to a more suitable location. At the time Thranduil had laughed and pointed out that the _Avar _likely wouldn't see that as aid so much as an offence. Now, however, several weeks later with no visible solution he might almost have followed through on his valet's advice if not for courtesy and common sense.

"_Ada_?"

A small voice called him away from his predicament. Legolas was standing in the study doorway, fiddling nervously with the hem of his light green tunic. His grey eyes were wide and curious.

"Legolas, what are you doing here?" At this hour of the day, the prince should have been taking his lessons, or else under the watchful eyes of Gwenil his nurse, not creeping around the palace.

"I had a question." _A question?_ Very rarely did Legolas come marching across the palace just for a question.

"What is it little leaf?"

"Everyone went out to play in the forest but Gwenil says I'm not allowed. Why can't I go _Ada_?"

"Well she is very wise. It's too dangerous for you to play in the forest."

"But Ialel and Filigon can." He protested, drawing up his nursemaid's children as proof.

"And they are not princes of Mirkwood." Legolas frowned, the cast of his jaw and draw of his eyebrows turning him into a rather miniaturized version of Oropher. "Besides down you have lessons? Where are your tutors?"

The little prince hung his head, refusing to make eye contact.

"Where are your tutors?" It came out perhaps a bit sterner than intended and Legolas' ears flushed. "Legolas?"

"I'm sorry Ada! It was just so boring!" Thranduil sighed. He might have known that Legolas turning up so unexpectedly in the middle of the day had little to do with asking questions, and more with hiding where Gwenil and the others would not look for him.

"So you decided to run away from your classes." What was it, the third time this month? What would he say to Tegilbor?

"But it was really really boring, I promise." Legolas looked plea-fully up at him, making his eyes as large and pitiful as possible. Thranduil frowned, he was determined not to fall for his sons 'innocence'.

"Oh really? And what was so incredibly boring that you needed to lead your teachers on a wild goose hunt?"

Legolas pulled a face, scrunching up his tiny nose. "There were all these dates, and Tegilbor was going on and on about some place called Lindon and how grandpa founded the woodland realm."

Thranduil sighed again and fought the urge to press his fingers to his temples. "Legolas that is _your _history. If not for all those boring dates none of this," he gestured to the room, "would be here."

"Oh." It was clear from his tone that he did not grasp the importance of this

Thranduil stood, sweeping his robes so that he would not trip over them and when to the bookshelf, near overflowing in the corner of the room. There were many histories, and sagas of the elder days, set together with lighter reads. He might have presented Legolas with any number of historic accounts, or aged lays detailing the exodus of the Sindar lords from Lindon to the forest of Greenwood, but he knew that he would find them just as tedious as Tegilbor's lectures. Instead he selected a wooden tube, containing several old ink paintings.

Returning to the desk he brushed away the various papers and spread the first painting out upon the wooden surface. Sitting and he lifted Legolas up onto his lap, where he could better see the artwork. He squirmed a bit, trying to get comfortable then fixed his attention upon the page in front of him. It depicted a graceful building set among young green trees, carved all of white stone and ivory. A small blue pool lay before the steps of the hall, and many small boats were moored there.

"Where is that _Ada_?" Legolas' eyes had gone wide.

"It was the hall of the Lord Celeborn in southern Lindon, where for a few years Oropher and I dwelt."

"It's beautiful."

"Yes, it was, but it was never truly our home." He spread the next painting, a depiction of the forest of Greenwood before any darkness had taken hold. "Our hearts always belonged to the trees and the wild places. The _Lachennath_ build their high cities and we enjoy the peace of nature. Your grandfather knew this, so with a great following of the likeminded we left Lindon as sought east of the misty mountains for a land to call our own."

He spread the final painting, a breath taking vista of a palace atop a hill ringed in trees. It was the old capital of Amon Lanc, now darkened and befouled. Thranduil's heart ached to see his old home, where so many years had been live out in joy before the coming of the shadow. "So we built a new home for ourselves under the trees we so love. The silvan elves who already dwelt here taught us many things, and in turn we taught them our system of letters. In time they took Oropher as their lord and the woodland realm was founded."

Legolas reached out for the painting and Thranduil handed it to him so he could further examine what—if fate had been kinder—might have been his home.

"Who painted these?" Legolas searched the edges of the paper, looking for any mark of the artist.

"Your grandfather did, little leaf." Gently Thranduil tugged the painting away from the prince, before he could crumple of smudge it.

Legolas twisted, looking up at his father curiously, "Where is grandfather?"

Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment and it was as if the sights and sounds of battle overwhelmed him. He could hear the screams and clash of metal, smell the smoke and blood in the air. It was so dark, not a hint of sun, moon, or stars in the sky. A permanent night.

"_Ada_?"

"Hmmm?" Thranduil came back to himself and the memories dissipated, "He is in Valinor now."

"But Tegilbor says he died in the battle of Dagolard, when he marched to the Last Alliance."

Thranduil lifted the elfling and set him gently on the stone floor, "The Halls of Mandos _are_ in Valinor little one." He stood as well, brushing the wrinkles out of his long robes, "Now I dare say you've made Gwenil and Tegilbor search for you long enough, time to go apologize."

"But _Ada_!"

"No buts, I expect to hear that you begged their pardon and were a very dutiful student for the rest of the day. Understood?"

Legolas hung his head and muttered something that even the keen elf ears of Thranduil did not catch. Defeated he slouched off towards the door. Once there he paused, looking back.

"_Ada?"_

_ What now? _"Yes little leaf?"

"Did you meet _Nana_ in Lindon?"

"No, I met her when we came here. If I recall she scolded me for acting 'too lordly' and not partaking of the Silvan customs."

"And is she in Valinor?"

Thranduil thought about his wife, how she had gone to every celebration with a wreath of seasonally appropriate leaves upon her brow, and how she had laughed when he's made a fool of himself trying to dance to a traditional song at his very first yule celebration in Greenwood. "Yes Legolas, she's in Valinor."

"Oh, alright." And with that he was gone, scurrying off down the corridor.

Thranduil sat back at the carved desk, and wearily surveyed the missives. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

_Avar-_ The refusers, elves that refused to make the great journey to Valinor and away from the sight of their awakening at Cuivienen, the sindarin form of Avari

_Avarrim- _the plural of _Avar_

_Lachennath- _the flame eyes ones, an impolite term for the Noldorian elves

**Well I hope that was an enjoyable oneshot. I try my best to work with (or in the gaps between) cannon but if I missed something please do point it out as I am no expert. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.**


End file.
